A Lady Dares. Bronwyn Scott

had other reasons for seeing you. I wanted to ask if you might consider going for a drive some afternoon? I know you’re in mourning, but a drive wouldn’t be amiss.’

      Hardly. Elise thought of her mother’s version of mourning in the countryside. A drive was nothing beside her mother’s card parties and dinners at the squire’s, and Elise had made no secret that she’d set many of the trappings of mourning aside. All right, all of them. She did wear half-mourning, but that was the only concession she continued to make and even that transition had been rushed by society’s standards. She returned Charles’s smile, but the offer raised little excitement. ‘I’d like that.’ She really should try harder to like him, to see him as more than a comfortable friend.

      They finished lunch in companionable conversation, the subject of Dorian Rowland discarded until Charles dropped her off at the town house. He saw her to the door, his hand light at her elbow. ‘It was good to see you, Elise. I’m sorry if the news about Rowland disturbed you. Now that you know, I trust you’ll manage the situation appropriately.’

      Somehow, Elise thought as the door shut behind her, she didn’t think ‘managing appropriately’ included afternoons pressed up against the office wall kissing her foreman with all the abandon of a wanton.

      Dorian had abandoned all pretence of being in a good mood since the previous afternoon. The encounter with Elise had left him aroused with no hope of immediate satisfaction save that which he’d had to provide for himself. At the sight of a haphazard nailing job, he ripped the hammer out of one worker’s hand with a snarl. ‘Take it out and do it right.’ The others gave him a wide berth.

      He didn’t blame them. Kissing Elise had put him out of sorts even though he’d got what he wanted. He shouldn’t have done it. Technically, he knew better but that had never stopped him before. He took what he liked and he’d liked her, a princess with her temper up, her professional reserve down. She’d been furious with him and it had done fabulous things to her, turning the green of her eyes to the shade of moss and staining her cheeks to a becoming pink. In his arms, she’d become a woman of fire, burning slow and hot, desperate to prove herself.

      That made him chuckle. She’d not wanted him to think she was entirely inexperienced. Most decent girls were just the opposite, wanting to prove their virtue. Even so, there was no question Elise Sutton was a lady in spite of her adventurous streak. Men like him didn’t mess with ladies. Ladies came with expectations while a man like him came with none.

      ‘Lover girl’s here,’ one of the men called out, a surly fellow named Adam. He was not the sort Dorian preferred to hire, but choices had been few and he’d been eager to get the project under way.

      ‘Shut up and show some respect,’ Dorian growled. He looked up from his work on the hull to see Elise crossing the yard. The princess in her was intact this morning, helped along no doubt by a careful choice of dress. He knew very well that clothes were a woman’s armour. Elise was turned out to perfection in a lavender morning dress of figured silk, complemented by the soft grey of her shawl and the matching lace trim of her Victoria bonnet. The ensemble was very demure, very respectful, although not quite up to the standard for a daughter’s mourning. He wondered briefly if she’d forgone mourning altogether. Yet the subdued qualities of the outfit did not diminish her. Perhaps that was due to her walk, Dorian mused, watching the sway of her hips and not necessarily her clothes.

      She crossed the yard with a purpose, hardly deigning to give any attention to the eyes attracted by her movement. Her superior attitude was for the best. Dorian felt a twinge of guilt over the sort of men he’d hired. These were rough men unaccustomed to ladies. But also he’d not expected her to make herself a daily fixture in the shipyard.

      ‘Clearly my message yesterday eluded you.’ Dorian set down the wrung staff he was using to attach planking on the hull.

      ‘Good morning to you, too.’ Elise smiled cheerily and ignored the cool greeting. ‘I’ve some things we need to discuss. Do you have a moment?’

      The comment elicited a mean chuckle from Adam Bent. ‘Are you going to take orders from the little woman? You’re not so big now.’

      There were other nervous laughs. He had to nip such conjecture in the bud. These men would never respect a man who appeared to be at a woman’s beck and call. But he’d dealt with men like Bent before on his ships. With a quick movement, Dorian divested Bent of the racing knife in his hand and pressed it against his throat. ‘It’s sharp and it will hurt, in case you’re wondering,’ Dorian said with savage fierceness, leaving no doubt he was not bluffing.

      Bent’s eyes bulged in fear. Behind him, Dorian heard Elise gasp at the sudden violence. Around them, men stopped their work to stare. Good. Let them. Let them be very sure they knew who was in charge here and what he was willing to do to prove his claim. ‘Say you’re sorry,’ Dorian pressed.

      ‘Really, is that necessary?’ Elise stepped forwards, picking a rotten time to intervene.

      ‘It damn well is.’ Dorian locked eyes with the frightened Bent. The man was a bully. He would cave. Bullies always did at the first sign of real terror and there was nothing as terrifying as a blade against one’s throat. A racing knife, whose purpose was to trace a shape before cutting it out with its thin blade, could leave an especially wicked line. A small bead of red began to show.

      ‘I’m sorry, boss,’ Adam stammered.

      ‘Say it won’t happen again.’

      ‘It won’t happen again.’

      Dorian released him with a shove. ‘You’re right it won’t. Now, Miss Sutton, if you’ll follow me up to the office?’

      Perhaps the office wasn’t the best of locations with the memories of yesterday still so recent and hot, but there was no other place to take her.

      ‘Is this how you run your shipyards, Mr Rowland? At knifepoint?’ She didn’t wait for him to begin the conversation once the door was shut.

      ‘When I must.’ Dorian folded his arms. ‘I told you yesterday your presence was a disturbance and yet you persist in making appearances.’

      ‘I needed to see you,’ she said evenly. Dorian admired her aplomb. There wasn’t an ounce of apology in her eyes.

      ‘You could have asked me to call on you at your home. This is no place for a woman.’

      ‘I wasn’t sure you’d put your shirt on,’ she replied, her implication clear. ‘I can’t have you scandalising the butler.’ she shot him a sideways glance that made him uneasy. ‘Although, it’s probably too late for that,’ she said cryptically. ‘I doubt a shirt will make much difference at this point.’

      ‘Shirt on, shirt off, it’s all the same to me, Princess,’ Dorian drawled. She hadn’t slapped him or any of the other things ladies did when they were too ashamed to admit their passions had been provoked and they enjoyed it. He would take it as progress.

      ‘It is all the same to you, isn’t it?’ She gave him a wry, intelligent smile. ‘You’re not received. What do you care? You could run around naked if you wanted. Oh, wait, you do.’

      So that was the bee in her pretty bonnet this morning. She’d found out who he was. He did wonder how she’d come by that information. It wasn’t something a lady would know. ‘There are a few homes where I’m welcome,’ he offered in his defence.

      ‘Enough to have met my brother.’

      ‘Ah, yes, the house party outside Oxford. It was nothing, just an invite from a friend of a friend I hadn’t seen in a while,’ he admitted. Meeting William had been a fluke really. Decent society had shut their doors ages ago on him once conjecture of his Mediterranean activities reached them. ‘Does it matter? I assure you being received has nothing to do with my ability to build your ship.’

      She huffed at the response. ‘You seem to think your ability to build my ship excuses all nature of things. I disagree. I think you should have told me you were Lord Rowland, son of the Duke